


A Fool and His Plans

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, But he's the fool in this tale, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horny Teenagers in Love, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jonsa Spring Challenge, and he's gonna steal him a Stark maiden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-08 17:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: King Rhaegar has grand plans for his son to wed Lord Stark's eldest daughter.  Unfortunately, he's wants to marry her to the wrong son.For Day 1 of the Jonsa Spring Challenge.  Prompt-Fools





	A Fool and His Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of notes because I'd rather do an info dump here than in the story-
> 
> 1\. Aegon is the Crown Prince but Jon is legitimate because Targaryens practiced polygamy in the past which makes a lot more sense than that stupid annulment business. Lyanna still died though :'(
> 
> 2\. Elia and Rhaenys are still alive but we'll pretend they're on an extended trip to Dorne. And Elia has had enough of Rhaegar's shit by now.
> 
> 3\. In this tale, Rhaegar's a fool and arrogant but not mad like his father at least.
> 
> 4\. I made Jon and Sansa a wee bit closer in age. He's 18, she's 16.

 

Spring had returned to the capitol and the king had ordered a great tourney to celebrate. Lords and ladies from all over Westeros had been invited to Kings Landing. True, there was planting to do and repairs to be made after the lengthy winter but celebrating was so much more enjoyable. Rhaegar was certain everyone would agree and wish to join him. And no one could refuse the invitation of a king.

Tonight, as the last of the Great Lords was arriving this day, there would be a masked ball to start the festivities. The king believed it would be a fine time to announce his decision to betroth the crown prince, his eldest son Aegon, to Lord Stark’s eldest daughter. He had not discussed it with the girl’s father yet, merely hinted, but no doubt he would agree. He was king and this was a very great honor to bestow upon his dour-faced Warden of the North.

_Speaking of dour faces…_

His younger son, Jon, stood beside his half-brother and awaited the arrival of the northerners. He had been in such a foul temper of late which the king lamented. It reflected poorly on him when Jon was so morose. But for once, Jon was not wearing his perpetual scowl. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as the Stark entourage entered the Red Keep.

_No doubt he has missed them…or perhaps he has been into the strawberry wine._

Mace Tyrell had brought several casks up from Highgarden with him as a gift for his king. He glanced over at the Warden of the South at the thought and found the man was smiling affably at him. There was a man who understood how to keep his sovereign happy.

The wine was as sweet as first love’s kiss; innocent and yet beguiling, light but surprisingly heady. It reminded him of more youthful days and pretty maids who would sigh as he plucked his harp. His son Aegon had plucked more than a few pretty maids already and it was time he settled down. Glancing at Jon though, the king wondered if the boy had even kissed a girl. He could be so withdrawn and was always ill at ease when at court. Bolder young ladies who attempted to curry his dark-haired son’s favor were constantly disappointed from what Rhaegar could tell.

He was as grim as his uncle much of the time. Jon’s physical resemblance to his Uncle Eddard was uncanny and bothered Rhaegar more than he cared to admit. It was whispered by some traitorous mouths that the boy had more wolf than dragon in him. A dangerous sentiment and, in his father’s time, those who were caught saying such things would’ve found themselves short a tongue. However, the king did not wish to be compared to his father. He was eager for the people to love him and thus such barbarity was not allowed.

In truth, it wasn’t just Jon’s appearance that screamed Northman to one and all. Everything about Jon reminded his father of that harsh country far from here filled with hard men, tough women and heavy snows. He spoke like them, drank like them and worshipped their gods. He sneered at the opulent suits of armor favored by Southron knights and wore leather and fur. He’d taken to wearing a beard lately like his uncle as well.

But even as a child, there had been a wildness in Jon that Kings Landing could not satisfy. It was not the spoiled and wanton recklessness of Aegon though. Rather, Jon’s was a love of horses galloping through a wilderness when his spirits were high or of seeking quiet solitude away from everyone when his spirits were low.

Rhaegar supposed he had only himself to blame. He was given to melancholia as well though he found his comfort in music whereas Jon did not. That was a pity. If Jon had loved music as he did, what music they might have made. As it was though, much as he had regretted the death of his Lady Lyanna and had tried to give their son what attention he could spare, a king had only so much time for a sullen second son.

So, out of respect for Lyanna and a wish to heal the breach between House Targaryen and House Stark, he had graciously allowed Jon to be fostered by his uncle from the age of seven until his sixteenth nameday, effectively killing two birds with one stone as the child could come to know his mother’s family but also spare the court his awkward, brooding silences for a few years. Surely, Lady Stark would do an admirable job of teaching him some social graces in the meantime, the king had thought, quite proud of his plan.

Surprisingly, the letters he'd received from Winterfell, though few and far between, were filled with the delightful ramblings of a happy child and the joy Jon had found there with his cousins. He had raved about snowball fights, fantastical stories told by old servants by the fire at night and pet direwolves of all things. It did not seem like Jon at all and the king had sometimes wondered if Lady Stark had guided the boy’s quill. Who could prefer the gloom and chill of Winterfell to Kings Landing?

But, regardless of Jon’s happiness away in the North, he was next in line for the Iron Throne after his brother, at least until the Stark girl gave Aegon a son, so Rhaegar had recalled Jon from Winterfell two years earlier.

The boy had returned...and then made a rather surprising request.

“This is sudden,” the king had blinked in astonishment.

“It isn't though.  We’ve known each other for years now.  I've spent more of my life at Winterfell and in her presence than here. I love her, Father.”

“You’re still just a boy,” he’d said with a chuckle.

“I’m six and ten, a man grown, Father,” he had replied stubbornly.

“And is she six and ten?"

"Well...no."

"She is awfully young to wed just yet,” he’d said and Jon had lowered his eyes in acknowledgement. “But, I’ll think on it,” he’d promised…and he had.

Jon had been quite miserable since he’d revealed his plan a fortnight ago but brooding would do no good. By eight and ten, Rhaegar had thought his son might’ve forgotten his youthful dalliance and see that marrying the Warden of the North's daughter to the Crown Prince would be more politically advantageous.  It made no matter. Rhaegar had married as his father had decreed…the first time anyway. Jon and Aegon would do the same.

Two noble white steeds bearing Lord Stark and Lady Sansa Stark came into view and Rhaegar smiled. At six and ten, the maid was as fair as he’d been led to believe. She had a lovely face with long red hair and blue eyes. She did not favor Lyanna but the king would not hold her Tully blood against her. Jon had nothing but kind things to say of his cousin and everything else the king had been told suggested she would make a fine wife for Aegon.

_If only Aegon will be agreeable…_

The crown prince was fond of gambling, expensive whores and wine, not necessarily in that order. He had complained vehemently that he was too young to wed when Rhaegar had suggested the match but in time he’d agreed with the understanding that he would not have to give up all his vices for the sake of a young wife, no matter how fair. Aegon was too much of a dragon to be expected to do that.

Lord Stark helped his daughter down from her horse and they both knelt in his presence.

“Welcome, Lord Stark. It is good to see you again,” Rhaegar said pleasantly, indicating that he could rise.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the man answered as he stood. He was rather tall and formidable looking, taller than the king. The king did not care for that. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing my daughter, Sansa.”

His jaw was clenched as he spoke and he did not seem remotely pleased to be introducing his daughter but he had always been a taciturn sort of man, the king decided.

The girl however curtsied with perfect grace, demurely dropping her eyes and murmuring her gratitude for the honor of his grace’s invitation with all the expected courtesy of a high-born lady.

“Well, my lady, I hope you shall enjoy your stay here.” _I hope you shall enjoy living here._

“I’m sure I will, Your Grace,” she answered though the trembling of her voice belied the expected response. There were evident nerves lurking beneath the surface. He could hardly blame her for it. She was in the presence of her king after all.

Her sparkling blue eyes darted over his shoulder and for a moment he thought she was seeking Aegon’s eyes.

_Yes, sweet child. He is quite a handsome prince and you will certainly be fond of my plan._

But no…she was only looking at Jon. He supposed she must’ve missed her cousin.

“You already know Prince Jon, naturally. Allow me to introduce you to my other son, Prince Aegon, my lady,” he said next with an engaging smile.

Aegon smirked at the girl, taking her hand and brushing it with his lips. “I’m enchanted to meet you, Lady Sansa. We are blessed to host such a lovely northern rose here in the South…just in time for spring, too. I don’t believe you ever mentioned how _radiant_ your cousin was, little brother.”

Jon bristled. Lord Stark did as well. It was a bit forward perhaps though Aegon had always been full of easy flattery. And Rhaegar would’ve sworn he’d heard Jon use the term radiant in the past to describe his cousin.

“Thank you, my prince,” Lady Sansa said modestly.

“Did you hear that, little brother? This sweet maiden called me ‘my prince.’ I rather like that,” Aegon leered.

The young lady flushed bright pink and Lord Stark huffed audibly. It was rather warm out and they were wearing cloaks. In fact, both father and daughter were dusty from their journey so the king bade them to refresh themselves. That would certainly make everyone more comfortable, he thought.

However, before he could order servants to see them on their way, Jon spoke, “I’d be happy to escort my uncle and cousin to their chambers, Father.”

He frowned. It was hardly princely to escort guests to their chambers but he supposed it was understandable given their familial relationship.

“Very well,” he agreed with a nod.

Lady Sansa smiled sweetly at her cousin and curtsied to Aegon once more before her father turned to his men and drew her attention away.

“ _I_ told you she was radiant,” he heard Jon growl in Aegon’s ear. “And what was all that ‘my prince’ business? Why did you embarrass her for addressing you properly?”

“To goad you, of course. And I’ll grant you she is pretty,” Aegon said in a bored tone. “We’ll see how well we get on at the masked ball tonight.”

Jon looked angrily at his brother until a small, delicate hand tugged at his sleeve.

“Cousin Jon? Are you ready?” the girl asked.

“Of course, my lady” Jon smiled. “This way.”

The pair of them strolled off together, joined by Lord Stark. Aegon chuckled to himself before going his own direction.

Rhaegar really didn’t know what to make of his sons at times but no one would interfere with his plans.

 

* * *

 

 

  
_Have you thought of me half as often as I have thought of you?_

Jon glanced back at Sansa as she walked beside her father following him through the Red Keep to the chambers that had been appointed for their visit. She was resplendent in her soft grey cloak and orchid gown. She wore her hair down with only a simple braid as he had hoped she would. He thought the Southron styles of the women at court ridiculous.

His lips twitched into a wide smile against his will. She smiled back at him though she was more mindful of her father.  Jon sobered before his uncle could catch him staring too long.

Uncle Ned had caught them kissing in the godswood shortly before Jon had been forced to return to Kings Landing. They had told him they were in love and begged him to intervene so Jon would not have to leave.  But, he had sighed, calling it a youthful infatuation.  He'd promised them both they would get over it.  Jon certainly had not though. Sansa was the first girl he had ever kissed, the only girl he had ever kissed. He had asked his uncle if he would permit them to wed when they were older.

“I would not object to you for Sansa, Jon.  You are everything I could wish for in a husband for my daughter.  But, you are a prince.  Your father has a say in who you marry. You will have to marry as the crown directs…and perhaps Sansa will as well.”

“It’s not fair!” they had shouted in unison but Uncle Ned had only smiled sadly.

Later, he had come to speak with Jon alone in his chambers.

“We were only kissing, Uncle. I’ve just kissed her!” Jon had stammered in embarrassment, worried what his uncle might suspect.

“I believe you,” he had said solemnly before he’d spoken of his mother and what his father’s decision to make off with her had brought about. “Thousands died, the realm bled and was nearly torn asunder. I lost my brother and father, your uncle and grandfather, and my best friend. Your mother died locked in her tower while your father fought for his throne. I will not pretend that it has been easy living with the way things turned out but your father is not your grandfather at least. And you could become a great king someday.”

Jon had shaken his head. “Aegon is heir to the throne. I’ll never be king.”

“Never is a very final sort of word, Jon, and the only thing we know for certain is winter is coming. However, your father could’ve had my house extinguished for my role in the war but chose to show me mercy. I cannot defy him now by keeping you from him or matchmaking behind his back.”

Jon had understood his uncle’s view…or tried to. He did not wish to dishonor Sansa and he certainly did not wish to bring trouble for the Starks or cause a war. He had meant to be a dutiful son when he returned to Kings Landing. He had hoped that he might sway his father into arranging a marriage between himself and Sansa.

His father had liked the idea of a match between the two houses. Unfortunately, he’d decided to wed her to Aegon instead of Jon. His father had misunderstood Jon’s quiet sincerity and thought him only a lovesick boy instead of seeing it was the dearest wish of his heart.

And, it would be a great honor for Sansa to be married to the crown prince. She would be queen someday. Jon knew she would make a good one.

But, he found he could no longer reconcile his duty with the longing of his heart. He could not bear the thoughts of being near her once more only to see her on Aegon’s arm. And the thoughts of Aegon putting a child in her and then casting her aside in favor of other company enraged him.

“What’s this?” Uncle Eddard asked of the small cask sitting in his chambers when they arrived.

“Strawberry wine, Uncle, from Highgarden,” Jon replied. “It’s quite sweet.”

“Mace and his bootlicking,” he scoffed, “Sansa may like it but I’d prefer a decent ale.”

“I’ll see to it some is sent to you,” Jon said. He too preferred ale to wine.

His uncle cracked a smile then and clasped him tightly in an embrace. “It is good to see you again, Jon. We’ve missed you. Everyone sends their love.”

“I’ve missed all of you as well,” Jon choked out with heartfelt sentiment. He missed all of them and Winterfell terribly. His eyes sought Sansa’s. His uncle noticed.

“Yes…well, I must speak with Jory for a moment regarding our travel arrangements for once this tourney business is done. I’ll give you a few minutes to catch up…but just a few,” he cautioned.

“Thank you, Uncle Ned.”

No sooner had the door closed behind him than they were closing the distance between them. Both stopped when they were within arm’s reach. She cast aside her cloak and smiled at him shyly. He was sure he did the same. She had grown since he’d last seen her. The radiant girl had grown into a young woman. She was even more beautiful than she’d been at four and ten. He was not quite sure how that was even possible but it was true. He would fight any man who dared say otherwise.

“I read and reread your letters a thousand times over,” she said quietly. His cheeks grew warm to hear that she had been thinking of him and reading his paltry attempts at prose.

“I still have your lock of hair,” he admitted and was pleased by the lovely flush that crept up her throat with his words. “How are Ghost and Lady and all the rest?”

“They are well. I wanted to bring Ghost to you but…”

“He belongs in the North. He belongs with his pack.”

“As do you,” she said.

His heart melted at her words. He would never love another woman as he loved Sansa Stark. If Father would not hear him, he would show him.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms before circling them around her slim waist and drawing her nearer. In a heartbeat, they were embracing. How he had missed the feel of her in his arms. He buried his nose in waves of auburn hair that smelt of lemons and snow before capturing her soft, pliant lips, sweeter than any wine.

“I’ve missed you, my love,” he murmured.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she sighed. He leaned forward to kiss her again but her breath ghosted across his face, making him pause when she asked, “He means for me to marry your brother, doesn’t he?”

Jon pulled back and cupped her dear face with his hands, the face he’d missed every day for two years. He had feared he’d never see it again.

“That is his plan…but you are not yet betrothed.”

“We cannot refuse the king. He might punish my family.”

“ _Our_ family. They are my family as well, Sansa. And I will not allow my father to punish any of them for my actions.”

“What will we do, Jon?”

“What will _I_ do?” he said with a grin.

She bit her lip at his mischievous expression and the corners of her mouth tilted upward. “What will you do?” she asked.

“I will do as my father once did. Tonight, at the masked ball when the guests are drunk on strawberry wine, I will steal a Stark maiden and make her mine. That is…if she’ll have me,” he added tentatively.

Sansa grinned. “You Targaryens princes are getting quite a reputation for that.”

“It’s the only Targaryen thing about me, my love,” he said as he kissed her again.

A moment later, Uncle Ned returned. Jon had heard him coming and put distance between himself and Sansa. He must not suspect a thing so that he could truthfully say if asked that he knew of no strong attachment between them nor any hint of a plan. He could not ask his honorable uncle to lie for his sake.

 

* * *

 

 

Rhaegar frowned and drank another cup of strawberry wine. Aegon had been dancing all night, his hands busily roaming the curves of every partner. It was unseemly but he was the crown prince.  He could hardly disguise who he was with his silver hair and fierce dragon mask. The women were not complaining.  They dared not complain out loud anyway.  He was currently dancing with the Tyrell girl in her golden rose mask who seemed perfectly jolly despite Aegon's roving hands. He had only danced with Lady Sansa once though.  Jon had sat fuming and scowling at him the entire time.

And what of Jon? Jon was wearing a plain black mask with a grey doublet slashed with white, nary a dragon in sight. It was rumored that he had received a mysterious favor bearing a white wolf that he'd mentioned wearing in the tourney even.  What was the boy thinking? And he wouldn’t dance at all. He had spent his evening speaking with his uncle or his uncle’s men…and watching Lady Sansa.

Sons could be very tiresome.

_If only Rhaenys was here.  She'd have some sympathy for her poor father.  Perhaps my future good daughter will pity what all these young men put me through._

Rhaegar sighed as he sought out Lady Sansa with his eyes again.  She was standing and speaking earnestly with Jon at the moment.  He hoped the boy was not sulking to her over something.  The Wolf Maid was quite beautiful in her dark blue gown and grey wolf’s mask. She’d left her flowing red hair down and it rippled in the torchlight. He had chosen well for his son. If only his son would be appreciative of the fact.

The king had been waiting for the right opportunity to make his announcement but wouldn’t it come off so much better if the happy couple didn’t have an entire ballroom between them?

The dance ended and Rhaegar beckoned Aegon to his side. “Why don’t you take Lady Sansa some strawberry wine?” he asked, indicating an elegant crystal decanter.

“Will it loosen her up some?” his son snickered. “She was as stiff as a board in my arms when we danced. Her lips were pursed like a septa’s. I fear I’ll need a lever to pry her legs apart in order to bed her.”

“You were being rather forward with your dance partners,” Rhaegar sniffed.

Aegon rolled his eyes but took the wine. The king watched him cross the room but now Lady Sansa was no longer standing where she had been.  She had left the ballroom entirely.

 _Perhaps she had to attend to a call of nature_ , he decided.

Aegon looked back at his father and shrugged at him.  He sat the wine on a table and found himself another dance partner. Mace Tyrell was soon at his elbow begging for an audience.  Rhaegar listened with benevolent patience and drank more of the sweet wine.  His announcement could wait till a more opportune moment, he supposed.  He still had to speak with Lord Stark after all, though that was more just for form.  The man was certain to be sensible of the great honor the king was offering by betrothing his daughter to a prince.  

_Maybe after the jousting tomorrow.  That might be a fine time to share the good news with everyone._

 

* * *

 

 

  
“I love you…I love you…I love my darling girl,” he chanted, his beard lightly scraping her flesh as his teeth nipped at her throat. “I hated him putting his hands on you, even for a dance.”

“I hated the way he touched me in front of everyone as though I was his. I’m not his. Don’t let him touch me again, Jon.”

“I won’t…I won’t,” he promised. “He’ll never lay a hand on you again.”

His hand twisted through her hair and his breath was hot on her skin. She was so dizzy, flushed from sweet wine and sweeter kisses.

“Put your hands on me, Jon.  I want you to touch me.”

He grunted softly and then a rustle of silks was all that could be heard in her darkened chambers as he lifted her skirts. They had not even made it to the bed before they’d started kissing and touching. They would make it no further than this wall. Sansa did not mind. His hand, rough but gentle, clumsily slid down her small clothes.

“Yes, Jon,” she whined when he cupped her mound.

“Find your pleasure, my love,” he said desperately. “It may make what follows less horrid for you.”

His fingers traced her slick folds. Sansa slumped helplessly against his muscled chest as one hand was busy beneath her skirts and another teased a breast, stirring that ache deep in her loins.

“Please, Jon…” she begged, her eyes darting downward as she licked her lips.

She felt the cool night air on her nipples when he pulled the front of her gown downward. They had already hardened to tight pebbles when his tongue, hot, wet and sinfully sensuous, swiped one. He began to suckle. Sansa moaned and rocked against his hand shamelessly.  She palmed him through his breeches, feeling his length harden at her touch.

They had kissed, he’d told her father back in Winterfell. But, Jon had not specified all ways or places he had kissed her when they were younger and so busy experimenting after she’d flowered and they’d confessed their feelings for each other.

She reveled in his touch. It had been so long since those quiet, moonlit nights in the godswood or the snowy mornings hiding out in the hayloft. Three moons of discovery they’d shared before he’d been forced to leave. They’d never went much further than what he was doing now. Tonight, they would though.

His fingers were busy, pumping in and out as his thumb circled and teased her bud and his tongue laved her nipple. Just before she could cry out with her peak, his mouth covered hers for a searing kiss. She clenched around his fingers and he swallowed her howl of ecstasy.

She had loved him since she was still a child, before she even understood the nature of her feelings for him, her prince and her cousin. He was the only man she would ever love. She did not want to be queen. She did not want the crown prince. She only wanted Jon.

“Are you ready, my love?” he panted as she floated back down from her crest.

She nodded and tried to calm the butterflies in her tummy as he hastily untied his breeches.

They had agreed to do this before they fled the keep. She would truly be his and he would be hers this way. No one could separate them after he’d claimed her maidenhead. At least, they hoped not.

“Sansa…Sansa…gods, Sansa…” he panted in her ear as he slid his shaft inside her.

The stone wall was hard and cold. He was both hard and soft and so very warm. Her eyes closed and she grimaced from the pinch and stretch. The pain faded though as she grew accustomed to the invasion. It was good that she was already wet.

She bucked her hips to test things and he immediately thrusted in response. She let her head fall back against the wall and he pulled one stockinged leg around his waist as he found a rhythm. He ground against her steadily, kissing her face and neck and babbling about how good it felt and how tight she was. She was glad he liked it. She thought she might grow to like it too with a little practice.

It was not long before he shuddered and spilled within her. She laced her fingers through his dark curls as he wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Are you alright?” he asked anxiously.

“I am yours. Of course, I am alright. Perhaps we’ll have a babe,” she sighed dreamily.

“I’ll give you all the babes you want,” he swore and kissed her passionately.

Jon kept watch as she washed away the last of the sticky seed that clung to her thighs and adjusted her skirts and bodice. She did what she could to her mussed hair. Her kiss swollen lips and the marks on her neck were hard to hide. She hoped no one would see them. She put on her grey cloak and grabbed her satchel containing a shift and spare dress. He had said his horse was saddled and was waiting for them in the stables.

He took her hand and they flew to the door to leave, to escape. They giggled like children who had stolen treats from the kitchens on a rainy day. But their smiles fled when they opened the heavy door and came face to face with three stern-looking men.

“Father…”

 

* * *

 

 

  
“What do you mean they cannot be found?!” Rhaegar roared the next morning. He instantly regretted it. His head was splitting from too much of Mace Tyrell’s gift last night.

“Prince Jon and Lady Sansa are not in their chambers, Your Grace,” the guard said. “We’ve searched the entire keep. The prince’s horse is missing from the stables and the Spider says two ships left port this morning; one for Braavos and one for Dorne.”

Rhaegar growled in fury. “Find his horse! Send ships after those ships!”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar’s eyes darted to Lord Stark. There was a gleam of intelligence in the man’s grey eyes…or was it just the morning sunlight.

“What is the meaning of this, my lord?! What have you done to my son?!”

“Me, Your Grace?” he answered in surprise. “I would never harm my beloved nephew. You know how well I love him.”

It was true. Ned Stark loved Jon. None but a fool would question that. The king gave a dissatisfied nod and looked out at the assembled gallery of on-lookers.

_Anyone of them could be part of this…or could be plotting. I cannot afford to be made a fool._

Aegon finally arrived looking disheveled from his night’s excesses. He had sent for him nearly an hour ago.

“Do you know where Lady Sansa might be? Or you brother?” the king asked.

Aegon merely shrugged. “Most likely he has stolen my intended. He has said repeatedly that he wished to wed her since returning from Winterfell.”

“Is this true, Your Grace?” Lord Stark asked. “Has Prince Jon spoken of marrying my daughter?”

“Well, he did mention it a few times but I…”

“This is all vaguely reminiscent of something,” Lord Stark said next with a piercing look that made the king uncomfortable. He tugged at his collar as the Northman kept talking. “If he has stolen her, I am very curious as to what your son has done with my daughter in the hours since they were last seen. Unless you mean to suggest that Sansa has somehow overpowered a grown man and arranged this herself...”

Rhaegar’s jaw was clenched in impotent rage. He heard he whispers racing around the Throne Room. He could not argue with Lord Stark’s logic.

_They will think me as mad as my father if I hold this man responsible for my son’s actions. And they will think the Dragon cowered before the Wolf if I do not play this right._

If anyone had been stolen, it was Sansa. If anyone was a thief, clearly it was Jon. That thought pleased him at least.

_Perhaps we are more alike than I thought._

“Well, I suppose the actions of my son can be dealt with reasonably once they have been found.”

“And my daughter? What of her virtue? If your son has…”

“Yes, yes. They will have to marry,” he said aloud. “I had other plans. It would’ve been a greater honor…but I suppose marrying any prince is an honor either way and it will suffice to bind our houses,” he grumbled to himself.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Stark said, a hint of a smile forming. “After all…it’s not as if Sansa was already betrothed to someone else, is it?” Rhaegar swallowed his retort in the face of that slap and nodded. “And Jon would be welcome at Winterfell…until the gossip dies down if you’d prefer, Your Grace.”

“Yes…that is gracious of you, my lord,” Rhaegar admitted begrudgingly. Perhaps it would be best. He turned to Mace Tyrell. “Your daughter Margaery is quite lovely, my lord. Perhaps she might enjoy an extended stay here at court.”

The Warden of the South bobbed his head and preened like a peacock. At least Lord Tyrell would be sensible of the great honor his king was about to bestow.

 

* * *

 

 

  
The sun was setting through the ship’s porthole as Jon kissed his way back up her body. They were both damp with perspiration from their loving and the warmth of Kings Landing in spring. Her hair was a tousled mess of fire-kissed locks covering the pillow. Her lips were parted from breathing heavily and her skin was flushed.

The ship from White Harbor had been at anchor all day. Sansa had gripped his hand fearfully a time or two when the shouts of the royal guards were heard. But they were asking about ships that had left port last night and early that morning. They’d paid little attention to the fat old cog that sat there placidly riding the wake in no rush to be off.

He found her mouth, letting her taste her arousal on his tongue. His cock ached to be sheathed in her wet heat once more. It would be soon. What else was there to do aboard ship when all they could do was wait for Uncle Ned to send them word after all?

“Does my prince mean to keep me naked here all day and all night?” she asked coyly. He had hidden her clothes in the cog’s other cabin in a moment of wickedness.

“What if I do?” he asked in a husky tone.

“I think I might not mind,” she replied, stroking his beard.

He laughed and started kissing her again but a discreet knock at the cabin door stopped him from going any further.

“Prince Jon,” Jory Cassel said from the other side. “I’ve brought food, wine and word from my lord.”

“A moment, please,” he called, rolling from the bed with evident regret and earning a laugh from Sansa.

Jon threw on his breeches and gave Sansa his tunic to wear. He waited until she was covered and had wrapped the blanket around herself. No man would ever see her bare but him.

He answered the door, shooting a cheeky grin at his uncle’s Captain of the Guard. Jory’s uncle, Ser Roderick, had taught him all he knew of wielding a sword and he had learned much from Jory as well. He missed all of the people of Winterfell, not just the family. He hoped they’d be permitted to live there for a time at least.

He suspected Jory was not particularly amused by his roguish expression or the way the cabin reeked of sex but, given Jon had never been with a woman prior to Sansa and how they’d spent half the night and the entire day in here, Jon could not help but grin like a great fool right now.

“How’s the jaw?” Jory smirked.

Jon’s grin disappeared swiftly as he rubbed it. His uncle had been beyond incensed when he’d found them last night and deduced his daughter had just been thoroughly debauched. Jon could hardly blame him and at least Uncle Ned had been appeased when Jon swore he planned to marry her.

“It’s better. How is my uncle?”

“He’s perfectly fine…and I shall tell him you are both well,” he said with a sardonic grin. Sansa would be blushing behind him, Jon was certain.

“Did you happen to bring the strawberry wine for my lady?”

“Aye, along with some bread, roasted pork and baked apples.”

Jon murmured his thanks and took the bottle as Sansa made an appreciative moan and came to unburden him of the food.

“I’m hungry,” she said sheepishly to them both.

“Aye, my lady. You’ve had a…busy day, I’m sure,” Jory said and then flushed scarlet.

“Well…what does my uncle say?” Jon asked to diffuse the awkwardness.

“Harwin rode your horse deep into the Kingswood before he returned on another. The palace guards discovered your stallion not so long ago. They believe you changed horses. Your father is convinced you are heading towards Dorne.”

Jon chuckled. “He still does not understand me at all. He thinks I’d go South and take her to Dorne? The North is where my heart lies. The North is where I’d take my lady.”

“I know it. Your uncle knows it. But perhaps we should be grateful your father does not realize it yet.”

“Aye. You are right.”

“What will the king do, Jory?” Sansa asked from the bed where she was already diving into the baked apples.

“He said when the two of you are found…and assuming Prince Jon has taken certain liberties,” he added with some embarrassment, “that he will see you are wed, my lady.”

“To each other though?” Jon asked to clarify.

“Aye, to each other, lad,” Jory chucked.

“And what of Prince Aegon?” she asked.

Jon did not care what Aegon thought under the circumstances but Sansa would of course. She was kind-hearted. And he supposed it helped their cause that Aegon was indifferent to her and had not objected when Jon spoke with him after their one dance last night. True, he had threatened to geld his own half-brother if he ever put his hands on Sansa like that again but Aegon had been amused more than anything.

“If you want her so badly, Jon, why don’t you do something about it?” he’d taunted.

“I intend to,” he’d answered.

He’d stalked off to watch his lady and awaited the right moment to whisk her from the ball when his father and the bulk of the guards had been distracted.

“I believe a match is already being discussed between the Crown Prince and the Rose of Highgarden, my lady,” Jory answered.

“Oh…well, I hope they’ll be happy,” Sansa said.

“Yes. For now, your father thinks it best if you remain here for a few more days.”

“That will be a heavy burden to be sure,” Jon quipped, earning a grimace from Jory. “I’m sorry, Jory. Thank you for all you have done for us and give my thanks to my uncle.”

The man smiled then and shook his hand. “It’s alright, Jon. We should like to have you back in Winterfell again. And I’ll have the pleasure of knocking your princely arse in the mud again the next time we meet in the training yard for all trouble you’ve caused.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

The cabin door closed and the cog grew quiet save the hushed conversation of its crew.

The sun had set when the lovers sat down to their meal.

“Have some wine, my darling,” Jon urged, pouring her a goblet.

“It is very sweet…but heady,” Sansa said, happily accepting it.

“Like you.”

She smiled at him and asked, “What shall we do while we await word from my father, my prince?”

“A good question, my lady,” he replied with a libidinous grin. He tugged at the blanket around her waist, enjoying her startled gasp which was followed by a sultry look. “What indeed…”

 


End file.
